I didn’t know why I agreed to this.
Actually, that wasn’t true. I knew exactly why.
Because Lucien asked. Which really meant Lucien demanded, cloaked in casual language and an arched brow that dared you to say no. Lucien never needed to yell. He had a way of making you feel like saying no would be a personal betrayal, one that would ripple out and disappoint an entire legacy of wolves and ancestors and whatever else he liked to invoke.
So, I was walking willingly into a setup I didn’t want, for a future I hadn’t agreed to.
All because I hadn’t learned how to stop being the version of myself that always tried to please him. And because, on some level, I still thought that cooperating could buy me control. If I gave him this performance, this conversation, this outdated fairy tale about fated love… I could keep the rest of my life intact. The part that mattered.
The part that looked like Maggie.
God, Maggie.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. Not the one she wore when she laughed at my dumb jokes or when she beat me at movie trivia. No, the other one. The one she wore when she told me she’d give me privacy. The one she wore when I walked away. Quiet. Wounded. Done.
I had walked out of the apartment without saying a damn thing to her. Because I didn’t know how to stay without begging.
Because I didn’t know if she still wanted me there.
Lucien opened a set of double doors and gestured inside. I hesitated long enough to remind myself that this wasn’t real. That whatever fantasy he had planned didn’t belong to me anymore.
Willow didn’t belong to me anymore. That door had closed years ago, and I had no interest in walking back through it now.
He clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Make a smart decision, Roman. This is a good match. One the pack will respect. We’re talking about legacy here. Power. Restoration.”
His words didn’t move me. They didn’t land. Just noise in a hallway I didn’t want to be standing in.
I nodded once, just to get him to shut up. He walked away without looking back.
I stepped into the parlor.
Willow followed close behind and stood near the fireplace, the light pouring in through the windows framing her silhouette. Her golden-brown hair was braided down her back, and her silver-blue dress shimmered when she moved. She looked like the memory of a girl I used to know.
“Roman,” she breathed, the name stretching in the space between us like she’d been saving it. “You look exactly the same.”
I didn’t answer. I let the silence press in, heavy and close, while I studied her. She was still beautiful. Golden skin, gentle curves, hair the color of late summer wheat. She’d always been easy to look at. Easy to fall for. Soft where I was jagged.
But all I felt was a dull kind of nothing.
No ache. No burn. No instinct telling me to pull Willow into my arms and forget the years between us. Just a quiet understanding that whatever we’d once had now lived in a different version of me. A boy who hadn’t yet learned how to lose things and keep breathing.
Willow’s heels clicked softly as she stepped closer. Her hands were at her sides, but I could see the way they twitched-wanting to reach. Wanting to be held.
“I’ve missed you,” she said, voice shaky. “When Lucien showed up… I thought maybe I was dreaming. I didn’t let myself hope, not really, but part of me wondered.”
She smiled timidly, uncertainly, and lifted her arms toward me slowly, giving me time to stop her.
I did.
One step back. One hand lifted in the space between us.
Willow froze. Her hands hovered in the air for a beat, then curled back toward her chest. Her smile wilted like a flower left in frost.
“It’s good to see you,” I said in a calm and detached manner I hadn’t known I was capable of. “I mean that. I’m glad you’re well. But whatever Lucien thinks is going to happen here… it’s not.”
She frowned, a tiny crease forming between her brows. “I don’t understand.”
I did. She’d been pulled into the fantasy Lucien still clung to, this idea that history meant destiny. That I could be steered like a pawn if the pieces were arranged right. He thought if he dangled her in front of me-this beautiful relic from a simpler time-I’d fold. That I’d forget the life I’d built on my own. The life that started with a snarky listing for a roommate and a chipped coffee mug with Maggie’s lipstick stain on the rim.
“I mean,” I said slowly, because it still stung even though it was the truth, “I’m in love with someone else. And I don’t want this. Not with you. Not anymore.”
Willow didn’t say anything right away. She stood there, her lips parted slightly like she might try to make sense of it if she stayed still long enough. Then her arms dropped. Her shoulders sagged.
“I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “Lucien didn’t say anything about someone else. He told me you needed me. That this was the moment we’d waited for.”
“He’s good at shaping stories to suit what he wants.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked away, blinking hard. “Is she a shifter?”
“No. She’s human.” I let that land. Watched her flinch before softening again.
“She must be… something.”
“She is,” I said. “She’s loud when she’s nervous. She eats dry cereal straight from the box and leaves mugs everywhere. She hums off-key in the shower. She drives me absolutely insane.” My voice cracked a little then. “And I don’t think I’ve ever felt more myself than I do when I’m with her.”
Willow’s throat worked as she swallowed. “I always thought we’d have more time,” she murmured, like it wasn’t meant for me at all. “That we’d find our way back to one another.”
I took a breath and let it settle in my chest.
“I used to think so too,” I said gently. “But that was before Maggie.”
Her eyes shone, and I could see the pain she was trying to carry quietly, the pride keeping her spine straight. “You used to say we were inevitable.”
“I was wrong. But I meant it then.”
She nodded once, sharp and quick, like anything slower would crack her composure wide open. She turned toward the door but paused with her hand on the handle.
“You were the first person who ever really saw me, Roman,” she said without looking back. “I hope she sees you.”
“She does,” I said. “Better than I see myself, sometimes.”
Willow flashed me a tight, brittle smile. “Then I’m happy for you. Even if it hurts like hell.”
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know.” She nodded again, slower this time. “Take care of yourself, Roman.”
“I will.”
She slipped out the door, and my past walked out with her. The silence that followed was different now. Not the tense, heavy quiet of expectation, but a clean stillness. It was honest. Final. It made space for something new.
I exhaled slowly and dragged a hand down my face.
It didn’t feel like closure. It felt like a chapter I’d already closed being pried open again by someone else’s agenda. But at least it was over now.
I turned to the window and stared out across the sprawling estate, my chest aching for an entirely different reason. I had no idea if Maggie would still be there when I got back. Or if she’d walked out of the apartment, and my life, for good. If she was gone, I’d never fucking forgive myself. I would’ve let her walk out in pain with no explanation, just my silence and cowardice dragging behind her like a shadow.
I’d chosen obedience to Lucien and the pack over her, and I hated myself for it. But if I still had a chance, any chance at all, I wasn’t going to waste it.
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